


you're so art deco, out on the floor; shining like gun metal, cold and unsure

by knighthoodie (excelestial)



Series: you and me- we're poetry; painting stories with our lips [Mob!H2OVanoss] [1]
Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: H20Vanoss - Freeform, M/M, also cute pet names, just Evan being a badass boss with a pretty lil Jon on his lap, mob!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-15 05:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excelestial/pseuds/knighthoodie
Summary: what's worse- disobeying Evan's orders and stealing from the stock or disrespecting Jon right in front of Evan? Evan would argue that both are damnable, but only one warrants instantaneous removal (and it's not theft).





	

Jon never really enjoyed the fire of curious eyes, hunting over his body for something to sink their teeth into. But this,  _this,_ felt like he was royalty. Though he may not be the smallest, it felt like Evan's lap was designed explicitly for him as he curls up against Evan's solid chest with a contented smile. Always he was the object of unsolicited attention, the keeper of wandering hands, his skin is littered with the holes burned in it from starved gazes. Now, he has the power in his hands to cast away their eyes with a mere flick of his wrist or draw it back in with a quiet purr. Life with Evan is akin to being born again- his old life was burnt down with that godforsaken building and its horrific tales and he, much like a phoenix, rose from those smoldering ashes anew. 

Faces meant little to Jon- he only remembered the ones to steer clear of, and the same went to names. Except now, now the rules have changed. He knows the sea of faces fixed before him; he's seen them idly sifting through the massive collection of firearms, watched them dividing up granule after granule of some substance Jon wanted nothing to do with. But Jon cannot recall their names very well, just the things he's observed them doing. Right now, however, he's being utterly ignored, for the most part at least. All eyes were on Evan and Jon's flesh has never felt so cool. Even perched like a prized lap dog, nobody was going to dare look at him for fear of making Jon feel like he was an anomaly, something that does not belong there. Nobody was going to look at him because Evan said not to- because Evan knew all too well about how creeping eyes made Jon's skin crawl. And if Jon is the Westminster winning canine, then it was Evan who's the guard dog. Nothing-  _nothing_ \- is going to make Jon falter, not while Evan can stop it. So these faces in front of Jon, they still mean little to him. Maybe that's why he likes it though, he doesn't belong here. He really does not belong here. But despite being so unqualified to be here, in the presence of these people, of dealers and assassins-for-hire and loan sharks, he is privileged. Jon would've thought his appearance would be greatly opposed, that'd he'd end up back on the street- that never happened. In fact, aside from initial leeriness, his placement in the underground world was received well. He never was told directly, but he heard whispers that Evan's changed since Jon had entered his life and in the (mostly) best ways. 

Evan is completely unphased as Jon playfully runs his fingers through the soft feathers of Evan's hair, despite being midsentence. "-nd it would seem necessary that we gather all the information that we can about his actions. If he has truly been pilfering our products, he must suffer the consequences of his choices." There is a slight hitch in his voice as Jon paints a question against Evan's neck. A small chuckle warms Evan's throat as a rosy hue dusts Jon's cheeks. "Baby, of course not. If he cannot be proven guilty, then what reason would we have for punishing him?" 

Pleased is the trill spinning in Jon's mouth, the only dancer capable of making Evan smile blissfully without ever being seen. Jon returns to his fun, resting his head on Evan's shoulder and smiling dazedly up at him, admiring the softness of his skin. Legs sprawled messily across Evan's lap to the point of being able to claim it as his throne (not that Evan would mind in the slightest,) Jon wraps one of his arms around Evan as he nuzzles Evan's collarbone with a lopsided grin.

It's damn near painfully clear that someone in the room, Jon could care less who it was- not that he can even see them, too enticed by the warmth of Evan's body- was rather uncomfortable with the scene playing out before them as they cough oh-so-subtly before volunteering themselves for slaughter. "Sir. Does Jo-"

"You better choose your next words carefully, boy," snaps Evan, malice dripping like venom from each syllable as his eyes narrow dangerously. Jon startles upon Evan's lap, brought from his dazed trance by the nails threatening to rip his clothes in a decidedly less fun manner than he'd like. In truth, Jon feels pity for whatever poor soul thought it would be wise to speak up. But he wants to laugh, to throw himself over the table because it is honestly just astonishing how dumb the comment was going to be- it was going to be about him, about Jon. So unless this is the first day for this unfortunate person, there's no real reason to address the obvious elephant in the room- being Jon- because everyone knows, and they know because Evan told them. And they don't talk about it simply because Evan told them some time ago with a snarl in his voice that "he better be treated like he belongs here. With me. Regardless of the situation or his behavior." So nobody ever brought it up. Nobody said a word, not when Jon sat in a wheelie chair that kept squeaking because Jon kept rolling- everyone hurriedly agreed it was cute in chorus after Evan had cooed at him. Not when Jon ~~nearly~~ vomited when someone brought photographic evidence of the completion of their mission, a mangled, almost inhuman corpse due to disfiguration. No one says a word about Jon, or to Jon, unless Jon talks to them first or Evan says so. Because, above all else, above the cocaine and the Ak-47's and the truly unsavory organ market that he all controls, Jon is the one thing Evan refuses to get tainted any more than he already is. 

There's a ghastly silence that feels tight like a noose ready to be strung up with its next victim. "Evan," Jon pauses for a moment to allow his partner's eyes to trail down to him, for the nails to recede and the softness to return to the honeyed eyes Jon finds sanctuary in. "Evan, just let it go, I don't want to have to wait to get home again tonight. You do remember what today is, right?" Evan sighs deeply, a breath of rest overwhelming the populous of the room as he gives a sudden nod, running his thumb along the smooth skin of Jon's cheek before his attention dominates the room.

"Alright," calls Evan, the fingers idly resting on Jon's waist suddenly reanimating with a firm squeeze that makes Jon blush with embarrassment due to the squeak of surprise he made. "Dismissed." A hearty chuckle erupts from Evan when Jon swats at his chest, pouting. "Aw, c'mon, babydoll, you know I'd never dismiss you," Evan purrs, drawing his fingers up Jon's quivering sides to lace them behind the other's back, pulling Jon tighter to his body. The steady, slow shuffling of feet and other things neither wished to think about was easily drowned out by natural body rhythms. Jon can only hear the velvet thunderstrikes of Evan's pulse under his lips, just as Evan knows just the crashing waves of Jon's breath against his neck.

"Don't you know when to stop being so cute, Jonathan?"

"Nope," Jon quips easily with a toothy grin, moving to straddle Evan's legs. The big leather chair groans in distress at the shifting weight, finally settling down when Jon contentedly sits back on Evan's sturdy knees. Placing his hands on Evan's chest, Jon hums happily with a brilliant smile splitting across his face when Evan gently sets his hands upon Jon's smooth waist, thumbs slipping into the loose belt loops. Gathering the material up in his hands, a playful smirk paints Jon's face as he pulls himself closer to Evan, coming chest to chest with him. Their lips do not meet each other, but Evan can almost taste the challenge on Jon's tongue as they lock eyes, Jon's own glittering like stars dancing and Evan's darkening like the promise of a storm. 

"Not a clue."


End file.
